


something good

by ilgaksu



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Sound of Music Fusion, Iwa is the Captain, M/M, Oikawa is Maria
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 07:09:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5734225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilgaksu/pseuds/ilgaksu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he says infuriating, Hajime thinks suddenly, how often has he meant afraid?</p>
            </blockquote>





	something good

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aureations](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aureations/gifts).



“Tooru,” Hajime says. He reaches out to catch Oikawa by the waist, but just as his fingertips graze the fabric of Oikawa’s waistcoat he remembers himself, pulls his hand back. Too late; Oikawa’s seen, and is watching Hajime, eyes huge and doe-like. This is the boy who was drawn to the Church, this very face; this is the boy who walked to Mass through the mountains. Hajime’s hand is frozen mid-air; he wants to tuck it into his pocket, less dangerous there, but he seems to have forgotten how. He seems to have forgotten what do with his hands. This is infuriating.

When he says infuriating, Hajime thinks suddenly, how often has he meant afraid? He stays locked in place, like battle fear only not, staring at Oikawa with the strange soft click of planets settling into orbit. He stays locked in place, like battle fear only not, staring at Oikawa, until Oikawa takes his hand. 

Until Oikawa takes his hand, and Hajime’s mouth is dry, and Oikawa’s eyes are oddly steady, the sort of gentle they are when he carries the children up to sleep. Hajime feels it hit him all over again, the awareness of it, like spotting a stomach wound just as it’s gone past the point of saving. Hajime thinks abruptly of years at sea, watching the calm eerie flat of it in the early mornings, the chill of it settling into his bones like peace. When he licks his lips, he swears he can taste salt. 

“I’d marry you,” he says, and someone tugs, he doesn’t know which, but suddenly they’re in each other’s arms. There’s flowers, and Oikawa is warm, and it doesn’t unknot the bitter, tense roil of loss low in Hajime’s chest, but grief is a lifelong process. Hajime has time. 

“I’d be at the altar tomorrow,” Oikawa says, eyes searching Hajime’s face carefully, before leaning forward and pressing his face against Hajime’s neck. Hajime bares his throat; Hajime lets him; Hajime can still taste salt, can still hear the sea, can feel the soft brocade of Oikawa’s waistcoat against his fingertips. His hands are on Oikawa’s waist. He doesn’t know how it happened.  

“You’re infuriating,” Hajime says, which means  _ I thought all the love left in me died with her,  _ which means  _ I don’t know how to live like that anymore,  _ which means  _ I’m scared, I’m scared, I’m scared.  _

Oikawa kisses him, and Hajime breathes in sunlight. 


End file.
